


Eternity in a Moment

by citrusella



Series: Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection [3]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Corrupted Steven Theory, Corruption, Gen, Quickly Building Stress, Sickfic, Steven Universe Future, The beginning comes off sort of like a, mild body horror, though I'm not sure I'd call it one overall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21129842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella
Summary: It had only taken a few hours, and yet, an eternity.





	Eternity in a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I did some weird things with the formatting to attempt to more heavily indicate some slight tonal switches. Not sure how effective it is, but I like it.

…It had only taken a few hours.

And yet, considering what it was…

that was an eternity.

* * *

The first indication that anything is happening is when he sees the small pink dot on his right cheek in the mirror after his morning routine in the bathroom. It's only just a little odd, because he's scarcely had five zits in his whole life.

Huh. Must be zit number six. It was bound to happen eventually. It's probably just from some increased stress he's been under lately.

He's bottled up his stress so many times  
he doesn't realize he's amassed a bottle collection  
until it's too late.

He's more concerned when the symptoms come on not an hour and a half later, his head pounding, foggy, as a deep warmth radiates out of his core and across his skin.

He never gets sick.

There's no reason to believe this is something gem-related…  
right?

When he arrives at the van way too early to meet up with Connie in town for a date, the spot has multiplied, and Dad worries it could be something contagious, like chickenpox or something. (Steven's not so sure about _that_ since he's heard that's supposed to itch, and these have the confusing property of only itching when he _thinks_ about them, but he doesn't wanna bother Dad with that information.) 

Dad calls up Dr. Maheswaran to <strike>cancel the date</strike> see if she's willing to give it a look when she comes by with Connie.

He doesn't remember either of them showing up.

Perhaps they didn't.

Dad leaves him in the van wrapped in a blanket, promising to head a few places to see what he can find to help his son out: the house (to Dad's confusion, because it's _not that big a deal, he's sick_, Steven apologizes profusely for not scouring there before he came over), the store, and maybe the Big Donut, for good measure. Dad reasons that a good bowl of soup and a few of his favorite donuts may be just what he needs.

Alone, he tosses and turns on the worn mattress spanning the van bed, unable to find comfort as heat washes over him with or without the blanket. Maybe sleep would be good, he thinks, but for some reason his mind won't quiet down, the pressure of the day—week? month? _year_?—thus far parading across his consciousness. He swallows, trying to push it down, wincing at a new sharp pain in his throat. He thinks he probably can't feel much worse than this without literally splitting in half.

When his brain finally runs out of bottles,  
he _might_ realize just how wrong he is.

He rubs at a spot on his arm for a few seconds before he realizes… it's grown.

…They're all growing.

Something about this doesn't feel right.

Something hasn't felt right for a long time,  
but he won't say that out loud.

His breath hitches, burning as it hits the back of his throat. He lets out a grunt in discomfort, which he is almost some semblance of calm about for all of half a second before it hits him—_that's not his voice_. He cautions another utterance—perhaps he's just hoarse?—but it does nothing to calm his fears and everything to make them worse; he sounds like a Watermelon Steven, or at least a Watermelon Steven's gruff, only-slightly-maladjusted older brother, his voice much lower than it's capable of getting naturally. What's going on?!

Yeah… only _slightly_ maladjusted…

That one simple just-barely-not-innocuous revelation is all it takes to open the gates and he's completely, _totally_ freaking out, human zits, human illness, human plans, human _everything_ forgotten as he rips off the blanket and tries to figure out if anything else has changed, because this has to be a gem thing, there's no other way—

Of _course_ it's a gem thing, because it _always_ is—

He grabs at his arms, the spots swimming into splotches before he can even take in what's happening and he thinks he's going to be sick—_actually_ sick, needs-a-bathroom kind of sick—just from the fright over whatever's happening to him right now. A not-unfamiliar but wholly-unexpected sensation overtakes his temples, his cheeks, his whole head, really, and as he reaches up to find whatever thing that is definitely not cats on his face he's distracted enough by it to almost not notice that he's gaining—

_What?!_

_That_ discovery is enough to make everything in him—except the changes washing over him because they're feeding themselves now, _there's no stopping them_—halt completely. There's only one thing this can be, and it doesn't make any _sense_ because it needs a Diamond and there just isn't a Diamond here—

—And isn't _he_ a Diamond?  
In the strictest sense?

He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly, for so long, that when he opens them again, the world is fuzzy, blurry. He gives a huff and waits for it to subside, for clarity to return, but it never does. The world stays a blur and he's not sure how much of that is his eyes not seeing it or his brain not _getting_ it, because he knows what this—if it is _indeed_ this—does to gems, and he may be half-human but he's still half-gem, too. There's never been anyone or anything like him, and he can't help but think…

Think… think…

His brain is out of bottles.

…

…

…

…

He doesn't know how long passes—he's not sure how much he groks time at present—but whatever thought he was thinking refuses to come to him. He can't bring any specific idea about _anything_ to mind anymore, can't focus on where he is or what he looks like or what's still changing or when Dad or Connie or Dr. Maheswaran might be coming to see him and cringe… glare at him, because all his thinks are feels and all his feels are the same.

Shame and fright.  
So much fright.  
Too much shame.

When Dad comes back, Steven doesn't see him so much as _feel_ him—he's afraid before he even opens the back of the van. If Steven had had any clear presence of mind he might note that he's too big to fit in the back of the van anymore so he's caused one of the back doors to wrench off the hinges, but all he knows in the moment is Dad is there and he can _tell_ it's Dad because no one else feels, to Steven, the way Dad does and he's known that for awhile but never quite so acutely as this moment—

—and Dad is _terrified_.

Terror and worry.  
So much worry.  
Overcome with worry.

One or two people are there with Dad and he thinks it must be someone important because they seem so worried, so caring, but he doesn't know who _that_ could be because he only has Dad figured out and Dad's the only person he was supposed to see today, right? But whoever is there is so upset and it's all his _fault_ and the feelings are so strong that he's overcome with a singular urge so impossible to disobey that he does it even when moving feels so _wrong_ and even when a million feelings of suspense, dread, _concern_ are coming at him and even when distress from all angles, inside _and_ out, covers him like a blanket and what else can he _do_, he needs to—

Run.

Run.

** _Run._ **

* * *

The half-jovial, half-worried conversation ended abruptly when the three reached the van, a pink spiked tail snaking out of the broken door.

Connie took a defensive stance, internally facepalming at her decision to leave her sword at home, as Greg approached the door with a caution only a man who'd spent 20 years with gems could muster, hoping whatever monster was in the back of what may have been his house hadn't done anything to Steven.

He was worried about the van but that paled in comparison to his son, who didn't seem to be in the car at all once he was close enough to do an inventory.

He worked through a mental checklist he had formed forever ago but never had a reason to get very far through checking off, trying to fight down the thought that perhaps whatever this thing was had eaten his son or _worse_—

The being scuttled to its feet and jumped off the mattress and onto the ground, writhing around for several moments as if uncomfortable in its own skin, before rearing back on its hind legs just long enough to expose its torso to all of them, its gleaming pink gem glinting in the late summer sun.

Connie's voice came reserved, confused, with just a hint of anger somewhere down deep. "…Steven?"

The name seemingly some sort of secret start word, <strike>the being</strike> Steven's dark, glowing eyes widened and he whimpered as if cornered before charging away with enough speed that it was almost hard to keep track of where he was going—except that he left a path of destruction behind him, like Hansel and Gretel leaving breadcrumbs through the forest.

Greg didn't know how long he looked in the direction Steven retreated before mustering what was left of his now-quite-fragile composure and pulling out his phone to send what he was sure seemed like a cryptic text to Pearl. Next to him, Dr. Maheswaran rubbed her arm, clearly feeling highly confused and wholly inadequate.

"…I don't think your son's got anything I can help with."

**Author's Note:**

> I've probably only got one more good thought in my head for a fic in this series, at present.


End file.
